Friday musings . . .

Not a glass slipper...

Not Cinderella...but close...the pretty part...not the indentured servant part...

Not Goliath's foot...but close....

further proof...

Not incredibly appetizing to look at...but incredibly appetizing to eat...

Not my size. . .

also not my size . . . but close . . . if I was still a newborn . . .

and didn't eat a lot of these. . .

Happy Weekend everyone. . .

The Spelling Bee . . .

I was in a Spelling Bee when I was a kid.

I made it to the final two.

My competitor, Lori, and me.

In order to get to the Spelling Bee competition I had to out spell all the kids in my school. Then I had to out spell all the kids in the county. Then I had to out spell all the kids in the city, on my block, at church, in the store, waiting for a bus, and so on...

I did that.

It was a piece of cake.

C-A-K-E.

The day of the Spelling Bee arrived. I woke up early and read the Encyclopedia Britannica and the Webster's Dictionary before breakfast. I wanted to make sure I knew how to spell every word there possibly was in the English language. I had no idea that I should have been reading romance novels too. It would have helped me ace the competition with my final word.

I went toe-to-toe with Billy DeLunamore on such words as, spoliator, elegiacal, pococurante, and ratoon. Easy-peasy...until....Billy was knocked out of the competition and I was left with Lori. Lori spelled every word correctly just like me, but with added flair. Lori would spell the word and use it in a sentence. I tried this. And was almost disqualified. Spelling Bee judges do not have a sense of humor. They do not enjoy hearing every word turned into a rhyming joke. I quit...right after ratoon.

Lori's last word was something like, fergalicious. My word was something straight out of a romance novel title. I was a kid. I didn't read romance novels. I also didn't know how to spell the word. I must have skipped over the letter "r" in the dictionary, and the encyclopedia and everywhere else. I did glance over a few pages of "r" words. I stopped after ratoon. I never ventured further. I should have. I lost on a really easy word. I will never forget that word. In fact I am writing a romance novel just so I can use the word in the title and write it many times over so I never, ever forget. Believe me when I say I haven't forgotten. To this day it haunts me.

I remember standing up on the stage with the hot lights shining in my eyes and the foul smelling microphone perched on the stand in front of me. I remember the whine of feedback from the speaker as I asked the judges to use the word in a sentence while I stalled for time. The judge said something like, "R----is the last word you need to spell in order to win this competition." I asked for the meaning. "R---- is a word not fit for children's ears." What? Then why give it to me?

I pointed out that I was a child and maybe they should reconsider and give me a more age appropriate word to spell. The judges conferred with one another for about a second and said, "No," and "Spell R---- please." Then someone hit the timer and I began to sweat. Time was ticking by at warp speed. I was searching my brain for the correct way to spell the word. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lori pull out her Spelling Bee acceptance speech and study it. I was a goner. I spelled the word. I spelled it wrong. A trap door in the stage opened up and I fell through and joined all the other losers in the orchestra pit. Lori was the last man standing. She spelled the word. Correctly. Used it in a sentence. Correctly. She won the Knights of Columbus Spelling Bee.

I crawled out of the pit and asked someone to check her I.D. Maybe she wasn't really 10. Maybe she was older. How did she know that word?

Lori said that her uncle was one. Her father was one and, in fact, every man in her family was one. Her confession did not make me feel any better. Lori's mother did not feel any better either now that the secret was out about her family.

My mother was not too happy either. I told her she should be grateful that I didn't know how to spell that word. I was pure. Innocent. And as far as I knew - didn't have any male relatives who were one.

The word you ask?

It was . . . "R-O-G-U-E", ROGUE.

the end...

Tubby...

This is Tubby a couple months ago...he sat in my arms forever and made funny dolphin sounds when I tried to put him on the floor. French Bulldogs do not bark like other dogs. They sound like a cross between someone letting the air slowly out of a balloon and "Flipper". It's part charming and part unnerving. Tubby belongs to my niece. She sounds like a normal human. This is Tubby today... he continues to be a little lethargic, boneless, and likes to be carried everywhere. He still sounds like "Flipper" and squeaky balloons. Just louder. And deeper. Like he means business. Watch out.That's my nephew pushing the "ON" button. . .

It didn't work. Tubby just sat there until someone picked him up. He's trying to live up to his name. We love him anyway.

the end...

Pillow talk...

My daughter and I were lying on my bed talking.

We were having one of our very mature conversations discussing world peace, the State of the Union address, and global warming...or maybe it was "Gossip Girl", the "Rock of Love Bus" and the pros and cons of hair extensions. Very important stuff if you ask me.

Toward the end of the conversation she thrust her foot in my face and with a huge grin said, "Mom, eat my toes."

I looked at her with a straight face and said, "I'm too full."

A small glimpse of life with my husband, the funny one . . .

I was at the mall with my daughter. A weekly occurrence.

Hubby was at home relaxing. A daily occurrence.

We are attending a wedding next weekend and my daughter and I have been marathon shopping for dresses. I found my dress on the first try. My daughter tried harder. In fact she was trying on dress #264 while I sat on the couch outside the dressing room texting my husband. I quit trying to find the right dress for her at dress #263.

The following text message conversation between the hubby and I took place:

Me: I am at the mall...what a surprise!

Hubby: Surprise! I am loafing at home.

Me: Loaf away!

Hubby: It's a secret...no one knows I like being at home.

Me: It's called agoraphobia.

Hubby: In Spanish a gorra is a hat or condom. I do not have a fear of either.

Me: :-)

the end...

Not the Erie Canal or the Panama Canal...

I'm having a root canal tomorrow morning. Wish it wasn't so. I went to a dentist many moons ago who wasn't so great at what he did. I am slowly correcting those mistakes. He put a crown on my back molar instead of on my head where it truly belongs. He treated that crown like it was a dental time capsule. He put every type of dental filling, super-glue, cement and amalgam possible in one little tooth and then covered it in gold. I call it my pirate tooth. Fortunately it can't be seen by the common house fly or man.

Yesterday my dentist removed the crown and lo and behold found another mystery to be solved by Geraldo Rivera, or not. He was so fascinated by what he saw he called in his assistants and people off the street to look in my mouth. I had no say in the matter. My mouth was numb and my jaw was locked. I couldn't close it if I wanted to. I have a miracle molar that has survived all these years with some Silly Putty and Doublemint gum holding it together and now I am honoring its survival skills with a root canal. I hope it's happy about that. I also hope it appreciates the arm and leg it will cost to fix it. I will miss them.